


On the Celestial Hierarchy

by PeaceHeather



Series: Good Omens fics [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel gets what he deserves, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Quote: We're On Our Own Side (Good Omens), References to the War between Heaven and Hell, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22775824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: Post-apocalypse. A package arrives for Aziraphale from Heaven, making both him and Crowley nervous.“Go on then,” he said, “tell us what it says. See what Heaven’s up to lately, that they’re sending you cards rather than making you go Upstairs in person.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1637404
Comments: 184
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, my first work for the Good Omens fandom! I had been resisting writing this, because I'm not ready to abandon Merlin quite yet (I seem to only be capable of writing for one fandom at a time), but the idea wouldn't really leave me alone. It shouldn't be too long; maybe... five or six chapters, at most? (I am _hilariously_ bad at predicting how long my fics are going to be.)
> 
> The title for this piece comes from a manuscript of the same name that is dated to about the 5th or 6th century, about the ranks of the various choirs of angels.
> 
> Enjoy!

“All I’m sayin’ is, platypuses. Platypodes. What are they called, anyway?”

“I think it’s platypuses… but you know, I’m really not quite sure.”

“Right, well anyway, them. If all this Creation bit hadn’t happened _before_ … Before, then I’d think we had something to do with the weird little things. I mean… jiggling God’s elbow. Something.”

“I am quite certain that no demon of any power would be capable of _jiggling_ God’s—of nudging—of _disrupting_ the Creative process. Not even Satan.”

“Well, I mean, he would’ve been Lucifer, back then, right, could’ve maybe had a Word with Her or something, yeah?”

“Honestly, Crowley, how much have you had to drink?”

“I haven’t, that’s the beauty of it. I just think playtpodes— _them,_ whatever they’re called—just a bit weird, yeah? God havin’ a laugh, maybe.”

“Well, the dinosaurs were certainly something. I do hope the paleontologists will catch on eventually.”

“Pfft.”

Aziraphale paused. “I always thought,” he said slowly, “that you wouldn’t want to talk much about… about Before.”

Crowley shrugged. “It happened. I’m over it.” He glanced away, blatantly lying, and Aziraphale knew not to push. “What about you? You never mention it either.”

The angel frowned a little, thinking back. “Well, I don’t really remember the War in Heaven at all. I think I must have been created after everything was over.” Any time he tried to think farther back, to a time before Eden, before he’d been assigned there, he always came up against a blank in his mind. He wondered, sometimes, if there were something hidden there, but generally passed it off as irrelevant.

It didn’t do for an angel to question things, after all. Not if one wanted to remain an angel.

It was Crowley’s turn to frown now. “Created _after_? I thought we were all made at the same time.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale smiled uncomfortably, “there are lesser demons that were made after, in Hell. You’ve told me that.”

“Yeah…”

“Well, I am only a Principality. I suppose I’m just a… lesser angel.”

“I doubt _that_ ,” said Crowley decisively. “ _Lesser_. Pssh. You stopped the Apocalypse.”

“Adam stopped the Apocalypse,” Aziraphale reminded him. “I nearly shot him.”

“Well, still. You’ve been thwarting me and my wiles for millennia, I don’t imagine a lesser angel could have stood up to my temptations all that time.”

“A greater angel might never have been persuaded into our Arrangement in the first place,” Aziraphale countered. “So really I suppose it’s all for the best that I am… what I am.” He stood abruptly, not looking at Crowley. “Shall I put on some tea? I’ve a new Masala Chai, direct from Tamil Nadu, that I think you’ll appreciate.”

Crowley didn’t like it. The tea, yeah, that was fine. Spicy the way he liked it. But the way Aziraphale had let Gabriel and the others push him around, the way he seemed to think it was their right, the way he thought he was _lesser_ … that didn’t sit well with him at all.

Maybe it was a demon thing; maybe he wasn’t built to understand it. But in Hell, if you gave an inch, everyone from Beelzebub down to Eric Legion would take a mile and run with it. You didn’t let people get away with pushing you ‘round, not ever, not if you wanted to survive. That Aziraphale would allow it, well… no. It didn’t sit well with Crowley.

They turned the talk to other things, back to platypodes and then octopodes, and after that centipedes and millipedes, and then the Greek language with its fondness for podes and pedes in general.

“And anyway, the Greeks were better than the Romans because they had Epicurus… I mean, I’m surprised you would go for Rome of all places,” Crowley was saying.

“Rome had oysters,” said Aziraphale plaintively.

“Yeah, and the Greeks had Epicurus who was all about _enjoying_ everything. Like, not gluttony, that’s one of ours, but just appreciating stuff. Oysters, and whatnot.”

A knock at the door interrupted their friendly argument, and Aziraphale frowned. “Whyever won’t they notice the sign on the door,” he began, but Crowley was sitting straight up, forked tongue flickering, scenting the air.

“Not human,” he said. “Be careful, angel.”

“Not human?” Aziraphale asked, turning with a frown to look at his friend. “Are you quite sure?”

“One o’ your lot. I’d know that holy smell anywhere. Surprised you didn’t notice it.”

“Yes, well, I suppose you’ve always been rather better than me at that sort of thing.”

One corner of Crowley’s mouth turned up, not quite a smile. “Bit of paranoia comes with the territory, with us. Best to always be looking over your shoulder.” Unsaid was the argument he’d already made to the angel, several times now, that it would do Aziraphale good to pick up a bit more of that caution himself, now that the Apocalypse was over. Heaven and Hell both had tried to get their revenge on their celestial and infernal agents, for thwarting the war both sides had been champing at the bit to get into for millennia; whatever was on its way now, it would do well to be cautious. If the caution turned out to be needless, well, better that than the alternative.

* * *

Aziraphale stepped a bit more carefully toward the door, Crowley swaying along behind him before leaning up against the door post, out of sight of whoever might be on the other side. With a nervous glance at the demon, Aziraphale opened the door.

It wasn’t Gabriel on the other side; nor Sandalphon, or Michael, or even Uriel. That was a bit of a relief, but then Aziraphale hadn’t really expected it to be any of them. Before the Armageddon-that-wasn’t, there wasn’t a one of them that would have stood on ceremony or been so polite as to knock. Which, well, they were Aziraphale’s superiors, so they had a bit of privilege in that regard, but even so. The point was, none of them would have merely knocked at the door and waited to be let in.

No, this was an anonymous angel, one Aziraphale didn’t recall meeting before. Low-ranking, he thought, but couldn’t be sure. They hadn’t really settled on either a male or a female presentation for this corporation, which made Aziraphale wonder if they’d even had a physical form for very long. Certainly they didn’t have a lot of control of their facial expressions, looking about nervously and not quite making eye contact with him.

“Angel Aziraphale?” they asked timidly.

“Yes, that’s me. Would you like to come in?”

They shook their head fearfully, as if being too close to him would be unbearable but they didn’t know how to keep from offending him by saying so. Or perhaps it was being under a roof; it had taken Aziraphale himself rather a long time to get used to not having sky overhead whenever he looked up. Or, who knew, perhaps they could tell there was a demon nearby, and were feeling understandably twitchy about that, instead.

“Package for you,” said the angel. “From… from Upstairs.”

“Well, yes, I’d rather gathered that much,” Aziraphale replied with a tentative smile, but it didn’t do a thing to soothe the poor celestial in front of him. “Do I need to sign for it, or anything like that?”

The angel shook their head again. “Just take it. Please,” they added with a hint of desperation, holding out a little parcel about the size of a cigar box. Aziraphale had tried cigars once, in about the 1700s, before deciding that they were more vice than virtue, and giving them up.

Aziraphale reached out, then hesitated. “Could you at least tell me if this is from Gabriel, or any of the others? If you know, of course.”

The angel’s lower lip actually quivered like they were going to cry. “Metatron only said to bring it to you,” they replied.

“Metatron,” said Aziraphale. How odd. “Yes, well. Thank you very much.” He took the parcel, and didn’t even finish saying, “Have a blessed day,” before the angel vanished on the spot.

“What’s that, then?” Crowley asked, after Aziraphale had closed the door. He leaned in close, taking off his glasses to get a better look. “Any ideas?”

“Well I don’t imagine it’s a book,” said Aziraphale. “Or cigars,” he added absently, carrying the parcel to his back room. He set it on a side table, then went around pulling the blinds, one by one.

“Cigars?”

“Oh. Nothing. Just… speculating.” Aziraphale untied the string and pulled the plain brown paper off, uncovering an innocuous box that still looked like it might rather have had cigars inside. “Or perhaps it could be one of those Tarot decks that Anathema likes.” He set the box back down and studied it, but it didn’t seem inclined to reveal anything about itself.

“Tarot cards. From Heaven.”

The angel chuckled nervously. “Yes, well, probably not.”

“Hn.” Crowley raised one eyebrow, then let it go. “You gonna open it yourself?”

“Yes, of course.” The angel turned to regard Crowley in confusion. “What else would I do with it?”

“Could let me open it,” said Crowley. “Just in case.”

Aziraphale blinked. “You don’t think…”

“They already tried hellfire,” Crowley reminded him. “Best to be cautious.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands together, glancing back and forth between the box and the demon. “But if it’s _not_ hellfire. If it’s holy instead… then _you_ could be injured. I don’t think I’d like that at all.”

“I can take precautions,” said Crowley, still looking at the box and walking around it slowly. Aziraphale couldn’t be sure whether he was telling the truth or not. He did like to lie, after all, even when it wasn’t necessary.

“Precautions?” he asked anyway. “Like what?”

In answer, Crowley darted forward, flicked the lid off the box, and jumped back out of the way as fast as a… well, as a striking snake.

“ _Crowley!_ ”

“What? Nothing _happened_ …”

“But you didn’t know that, you could have been killed! Not just discorporated, actually _killed_!”

“But I _wasn_ _’t_ ,” reassured the demon. He spread his arms and smiled winsomely. “Look. Not a hair out of place. Tickety-boo, like you’re always saying.”

Aziraphale’s hands were still shaking, but he approached the box alongside Crowley, and they both looked inside.

There was a card lying there, but it wasn’t a Tarot card. It was just a slip of fine, thick, creamy paper, folded in half, the sort of thing that might have had a note or an invitation inside, but it was unmarked and unremarkable in any way.

“Not even especially holy,” muttered Crowley.

“Well, but that’s reassuring, isn’t it?” asked Aziraphale.

“Maybe. It’s not hellish, either. ‘S just… a card.” He straightened up and looked at Aziraphale. “Go on then,” he said, “tell us what it says. See what Heaven’s up to lately, that they’re sending you cards rather than making you go Upstairs in person.”

“The messenger said they were charged by Metatron to bring it,” Aziraphale mused.

“Mouthpiece of God. Angel of the veil. Yeah, I know.” They both studied the card for another moment.

“Do you think it means anything?”

“Dunno. One way to find out,” said Crowley, indicating the card with his chin.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Aziraphale smoothed his hands down his waistcoat, then reached out gingerly and picked up the card. When nothing happened, he let out a breath and smiled at Crowley. “Well. Here goes.”

He opened the card. Read it. Frowned. Read it a second time, blinking in consternation.

“What’s it say, then?” asked Crowley.

“It says—oh!”

Whatever Aziraphale was about to say was cut off by a gasp, as the angel’s eyes opened wide. He went rigid, and began to glow from within with holy fire that had Crowley squinting and miracling another pair of glasses on to protect his eyes.

“Aziraphale!” He stumbled back, the holy power stinging like sunburn, then lunged forward to catch Aziraphale as he collapsed.

Angels didn’t _do_ unconsciousness, as far as Crowley knew; he personally liked to indulge in a bit of sloth now and then, take a nap for a day or a year or a decade, whatever suited his mood at the time. To the best of his knowledge, though, Aziraphale had always used the night hours to get a little bit of extra reading in with his beloved books. Crowley had never actually _seen_ him just lying there, with his eyes shut, unmoving.

Crowley’s hands hovered uselessly over the angel, unable to check for a pulse, or breathing, or whatever it was humans did when someone collapsed. Aziraphale’s body was still there, and he could still feel Aziraphale’s _presence_ , so he at least hadn’t been destroyed…

He rested a hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, then hissed and jerked back, shaking the sting out of his fingers. That was a _lot_ of holiness concentrated in one place. How he’d missed it before, he had no idea. Maybe it needed skin-on-skin contact or something. He didn’t know, nor especially care.

Crowley sat back on his heels, glaring over his shoulder at the box that had started all this. The slip of paper lay harmlessly on the floor by Aziraphale’s foot; after a moment, Crowley leaned over, picked it up, and unfolded it.

There was only one word written inside:

_Remember._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments on the previous chapter. Since this is my first fic in this fandom, I was a little worried I wouldn't get the voices quite right, but I am now greatly reassured. :)

_Remember_ …

Crowley could feel the holy command, the literal Word, seeping into his brain, trying to force something to happen, but whatever it was, he was having none of it. Wasn’t he a Fallen angel? Wasn’t that supposed to be all about disobeying God? Never mind that all he’d done was ask too many questions… the other demons may have been the ones to truly rebel, but Crowley had gotten caught up in the wrong crowd and paid the same price; he may as well take the same benefits.

He could ignore God’s Word if he had to.

It took effort—bit of concentration, and he shuddered, feeling scales ripple in and out of existence on his form as he pushed the command out to deal with later—but he managed it. Crowley opened his eyes some undetermined length of time later to find himself still hunched on the floor, curled protectively over Aziraphale, who was still positively _glowing_ with holy power to his demonic senses.

“Aziraphale,” he called. Carefully, he laid one hand on the angel’s shoulder, waiting for the burn, but nothing happened. Maybe it really did need skin to skin contact. Crowley miracled gloves into place and patted Aziraphale’s cheek. “Aziraphale. Angel. Come on, wakey wakey… I hear there’s this new place down the road with really good crepes.”

No response.

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale! You’ve got customers, come on. They’re threatening to _buy your books_.”

The angel’s eyes shot open, and Crowley resisted the flinch only through sheer effort of will; Aziraphale’s eyes were glowing silver and gold orbs, as if he was barely containing the holy fire inside him. To Crowley’s great relief, they faded back to Aziraphale’s normal blue after only a moment, and the angel looked at him in confusion.

“My books, you say?”

Crowley couldn’t resist the triumphant smirk. “Welcome back, angel.”

Aziraphale sat up slowly, blinking at the room as if he’d not quite seen it before. “What am I doing on the floor?”

“You read a Holy Word and collapsed,” said the demon. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember…” The angel’s expression went faraway for just a moment, before he looked up at Crowley once more. “Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Remember. I remember quite a lot, in fact.”

Crowley slipped backwards, giving Aziraphale room to stand up, watching him warily. Something was off about the angel, and he couldn’t quite tell what. Not _wrong_ , per se, but… off. He didn’t like it. “Everything all right, then?” he asked.

“Er, yes,” said Aziraphale distantly. He still seemed a bit out of it, from what Crowley could tell. “Yes, I think I’m fine. Better than fine. Better than I’ve been in a long time. I just need to check something…”

Dazedly, he pushed past Crowley and went back out into the main shop, making his way toward a shelf that Crowley knew contained several different Biblical translations. His collection of misprinted Bibles was famous, both for the rarity of most of the books and for the owner’s reluctance to let anyone even look at them, much less try to buy them, but he didn’t reach for one of them. Instead he pulled down a scroll in the original Hebrew, cleared space on a cluttered table nearby, and opened it gently.

“What are you looking for, angel?”

“Just… checking something.”

“You said that already,” Crowley pointed out impatiently.

Aziraphale finally glanced up at the demon, though only for an instant. “Something I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten,” he elaborated. “From early on.”

Crowley peered over the angel’s shoulder. “Genesis, yeah, that’s pretty early on. What did you forget?”

In answer, Aziraphale began to read. “ _So He drove out the man; and He placed at the east of the garden of Eden the cherubim, and the flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way to the tree of life._ Cherubim…”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Aziraphale ignored him and went to another shelf, pulling down a manuscript titled _De Coelesti Hierarchia._

“On the Celestial Hierarchy,” Crowley read. “Angel, what’s this all about?”

Aziraphale flipped through the pages quickly before landing on an illuminated page showing several circles, broken into rows of three with a label separating each row. “Cherubim, cherubim… ah. Well.”

“Angel?”

Aziraphale blinked, seeming to notice Crowley standing there for the first time. “I’m not a principality,” he said. “And even if I were… Gabriel is an archangel.”

“Pretty high ranking, yeah?” asked Crowley.

“No. Actually, well, it depends on who you read, but this is considered one of the more reliable sources, and it says that the archangels are actually the second _lowest_ of the nine choirs of angels. They interact with humanity and serve as guardians. You know, the whole ‘For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given’?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well. I’ve always thought I was a Principality. And I thought that was a fairly low rank, but even Principalities are above archangels. And this, this copy of the Tanakh, well, it says the guardians of the Eastern Gate were _cherubim_.”

“And that’s significant because…”

“Because in _De Coelesti Hierarchia_ , cherubim are considered the second _highest_ rank of angels, second only to the seraphim.”

Crowley blinked. “You know those humans got things wrong,” he tried. “Cherubim, that’s plural, for one thing.”

“I know,” said Aziraphale, “but it’s not actually incorrect. There, er, there _were_ more angels at the Eastern gate, but only the one flaming sword. I think the others were recalled, or perhaps they chose to guard elsewhere, once Adam and Eve were expelled. Not really a lot of people around to storm the gate, after all.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, waiting.

Aziraphale wrung his hands together, and it was the most reassuring thing Crowley had ever seen. “Well, it’s only… I think I outrank Gabriel.”

* * *

Crowley’s mind blanked completely; at the edges of his consciousness, he could feel the holy command trying to work its way in, and shook it off once more. He had other things to focus on, damn it. “You what.”

“I…”

“You _outrank_ Gabriel? Gabriel, that wanker who’s always been breathing down your neck and making you feel small? Him? You outrank him?”

“I… well… I think so?”

Crowley felt himself smile, wide enough his fangs were likely showing. The smile became a chuckle, and then that turned into a full-bellied laugh. He threw his head back and guffawed—

—and then the anger set in, on behalf of his friend, and the laughter cut off sharply. “How did you manage to forget something like that, then?”

Aziraphale looked pensive, and none too happy himself. “I don’t think I forgot so much as I was… made to forget.”

“By Gabriel.”

“It seems likely, yes. At least, that’s what I remember, now. I certainly can’t think of anyone else who would have a _reason_ to do such a thing.”

“Or allow it,” growled Crowley, thinking of God. Her and Her _ineffable_ plans. Why would She let something like that happen to one of her most devoted angels?

There he went, asking questions again. The holy Word crept around the edges of his mind, seeking a way in. Crowley shuddered, and shoved the damned—the holy—the _thing_ aside. “How’d it happen, then?”

The angel’s expression went distant, and he turned slightly away. “It was during the War, I think,” he said. “I know I told you I’d never killed anything before… that I thought I’d been created after all the great battles, after the Fall. But now…” He paused, shuddered a little. “I was a warrior, Crowley. A commander of legions. I didn’t just battle the Fallen, I…” He turned back, and there were tears in his eyes. “I don’t remember you from Before. I pray that I wasn’t responsible for what happened to you.”

“I doubt it,” said Crowley. “But go on.”

“Well… it was in the midst of a battle, I think,” said Aziraphale. “There were Fallen angels, but they were wounded, badly wounded. They were retreating, and I commanded my legions to let them escape. They were going to end up in Hell anyway, and then they wouldn’t be a threat to us anymore. And I couldn’t imagine God being so vindictive as to want Her children to destroy one another, so I… I let them go. Gabriel didn’t like that.”

“And he did something?”

“He turned on me,” breathed Aziraphale. “Accused me of cowardice, in front of the whole legion. I was—we’re supposed to be beings of love and _compassion_ , Crowley, you know that. How is it cowardice to show mercy to a defeated enemy?”

“I don’t think it is,” said Crowley, “but then you know I’m not one for compassion and such in the first place. A demon’d call it weakness, yeah, but you’d think an angel would feel differently.”

“Gabriel was spoiling for a fight. He didn’t want the battle to end. He’s prophesied to sound the trumpet that heralds the End Times, you see, and he’s rather proud of the important role he is to play. Anyway, he wouldn’t listen to reason, wouldn’t calm himself, and I told him that if he couldn’t listen to orders, he would be demoted in the choirs… and he attacked me.”

Crowley hissed instinctively before he could get his emotions under control. “Thought pride was one of ours,” he said, once he was able.

“Perhaps,” said the angel. “Anyway, I was unprepared, and he defeated me, and… well, he had a _memory_ sword. They were used to make the Fallen forget who they had once been, stop fighting back. Make them accept their new status as demons. It was an effective way to defeat the legions of Hell without destroying them.”

It was barbaric, thought Crowley, but he didn’t say it aloud. Instead, he waited, and when Aziraphale didn’t continue, he said, “Would’ve thought that would make _you_ a Fallen angel, then, yeah? If you couldn’t remember who you were.”

“Perhaps that is why the Lord, er, demoted me to Earth,” said Aziraphale. His voice was small, and he wouldn’t meet Crowley’s gaze. “I wasn’t broken enough to Fall, but was no longer able to command legions.”

“Careful, angel,” said Crowley. “You get too close to asking questions and you just might end up like me.”

“Yes, of course.” Azirphale seemed to pull himself together, saying, “We can’t know things like that, after all. Not really. It’s only speculation.” The angel’s expression hardened. “But I admit, I am surprised that Gabriel hasn’t faced any consequences for doing it in the first place… I think I’d like to have a word with him, actually. Perhaps I could find out why I’m not Fallen, despite what was done to me.”

“That’d be because he was thinking it’d be more fun if he could lord it over a Cherub of the Eastern Gate, I’d wager.”

“Yes, that does seem likely… but enough about me.” Aziraphale looked at him with eyes that seemed even sharper than they had been before, able to look right _through_ Crowley whether he wanted it or not. “Are you quite all right, yourself? I’d imagine that I must have given off quite a bit of, well, of celestial energy, just then. I didn’t cause any damage, did I?”

“No,” said Crowley quickly. He thought of his singed fingers and decided they weren’t damaged enough to be worth mentioning. Thought of the power of God’s Word, still trying to influence him somehow, and kept his expression neutral through thousands of years of practice. “Nah. Took me by surprise, a bit, that’s all.”

“If you’re sure,” said Aziraphale. Doubt was written in every line of his face.

“Yeah, everythin’s fine, angel. Don’t worry about _me_. If I were you, I’d be worrying more about what you’re going to say to Gabriel, and the look on his face when he realizes that you remember what he did.”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale slowly. “Yes, I rather think a conversation with Gabriel is long overdue.”

The angel’s expression hardened to a resolve that Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. It scared him a bit, truth be told, but he wasn’t in the habit of admitting the truth unless it benefited him. If his friend, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate, really was so much more powerful than either of them had realized, really was that close to the Most High before Gabriel had attacked him, odds were good he’d decide he’d had enough of Crowley soon enough.

No reason to push him away before that happened on its own.

“Go do what you need to do, angel,” he said. “I’ll be here when you get back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale walked in through the front door, and took the escalator Up. There was no way they wouldn’t know he was coming, but he had decided that quite frankly he didn’t give a damn. If the forces of Heaven wanted to oppose him, let them come.

He _would_ speak to Gabriel, or perhaps the Metatron first; he hadn’t quite decided the details of that yet, of which would be the best course of action to take, only that he would certainly speak to both of them. He wanted to find out _why_ , more than anything else.

The decision of whom to approach first was taken out of his hands when he reached the top of the escalator and found Michael barring his way. “Why have you come here, traitor?”

“Traitor,” said Aziraphale, raising one eyebrow. “You do like to throw that word around a bit freely, don’t you?”

Michael thinned her lips in annoyance, and did not move from his path. “Why are you here?”

The angel—the _cherub_ —drew himself up. “I am going to speak to Gabriel. And the Metatron. And then I shall leave, presumably unhindered.”

“Don’t think we will allow you to _make trouble_ , here in Heaven,” Michael tried to warn him, but Aziraphale only smiled.

“I wasn’t asking your permission, archangel,” he said, and smiled wider when he saw the realization dawn in her eyes.

“You remember,” she whispered. “How is this possible?”

“Word came down from Someone higher than you,” said Aziraphale. He shook his head sadly, and added, “I am disappointed that you knew, and did nothing.”

“There was nothing to be done,” said Michael. “With your… injury… you would never remember on your own, and Gabriel…” She trailed off uncertainly.

“Forbade telling me?”

Michael nodded.

“And you obeyed him, why? Because he ostensibly outranks you?”

Again, Michael nodded silently, her glance away the only thing that gave away her nervousness.

“I wonder if the Lord will accept that excuse; as I recall the humans do not admit ‘I was only following orders’ as a valid defense when an atrocity is committed.”

“I was not the one who committed the atrocity,” snapped Michael.

“No. You merely condoned it.” Aziraphale drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I will speak to Gabriel now.”

Michael opened her mouth as if to protest, then stepped back and let him pass. After all, this was the angel who had, as far as she knew, proven himself immune even to hellfire, when Gabriel had decided to destroy him for his treachery in choosing Earth and humanity over Heaven’s war with Hell. And now he remembered who he truly was; what might he be capable of, she must be wondering, with the full might of his power restored to him?

In the past, when Aziraphale had come here to report his good works on Earth to the archangels, the space had always seemed intimidatingly empty of other angels. Only the four—Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon—only they would face him. He hadn’t been permitted to see the rest of the host of Heaven. Or perhaps, Aziraphale thought, just perhaps, they were hiding _him_ from the other angels. Hiding Gabriel’s crime.

Now, however, he was unexpected, and there were angels of the lower ranks moving to and fro, studying the world as it turned on its axis, running errands, or engaged in other tasks that he did not take the time to decipher. When they saw him, many stopped in their tracks and stared. He heard their whispers as he passed:

“Aziraphale…”

“I thought he was dead…”

“Did he just come from Earth?”

“Has he been there all this time?”

“Aziraphale!”

The angel stopped and looked around; there was a crowd gathering, many wearing expressions of shock, and (dare he hope?) dawning delight on their faces. Had they truly not known, all this time, where he had been? He smiled tentatively, and at least one of the lower ranking angels broke into a grin.

“Aziraphale,” they said. “After all this time.”

“We thought you destroyed,” said another. “What has happened to you?”

“I am afraid that is a tale for another time,” he replied regretfully. “For now, I am on a rather important errand.”

“Of course, Commander.” The angel bowed and moved aside for him, which was… rather a disconcerting experience, truth be told. It had been so long since he had received any sort of _respect_ from anyone in Heaven. Well, except perhaps from God, but She didn’t tend to make her regard known to very many.

Aziraphale stepped into the space they had made for him, closed his eyes, and took an unneeded deep breath. He could _feel_ the other angels’ presences now, nearby and more distant, all the way up to the Metatron and other seraphim. At the core of them all, still, he could feel the Lord and his connection to Her, deep in his heart.

There was one angel in specific that he wanted to reach, but finding him was simply a matter of will. Aziraphale opened his eyes, and said simply, “Gabriel.”

* * *

As soon as the name was uttered, the archangel appeared, facing away from Aziraphale in the open space that the other angels had left. They were gathering into quite a crowd now, he noticed, forming a circle around the two adversaries.

“What do you all think you’re doing?” came the familiar growl. “Get back to work!”

Aziraphale could almost picture Gabriel’s sneer, and while it pained him to think that another being of Heaven was even capable of of such behavior, he was more angered that Gabriel had been allowed to escape the consequences for it for so long.

“That’s quite enough of that, I think,” he said calmly.

The archangel whirled around, a look of utter contempt on his face, that moved quickly to condescending amusement as he realized who was standing before him. “Aziraphale,” he said, smiling. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for assignments and something to do with your miserable existence, you’ll have to look elsewhere. Perhaps Hell will give you something to do, or your pet demon.”

“I’m not the one who has lost direction, archangel,” said Aziraphale. “If anything, I’ve regained it.”

Gabriel blinked his violet eyes once, twice, in visible consternation, before his smile returned. “I took your memories from you once; I’m sure I can do it again.”

The angels surrounding them gasped. Gabriel twitched, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d really forgotten that he was being watched right now. That he was being watched, always, by God.

“You haven’t learned from the last time you tried to destroy me?” he asked, just to see what everyone’s reaction would be. It hadn’t really been him facing the hellfire, but even if Gabriel had figured that out, he likely wouldn’t have told the others. He’d want to cover up his failure just as much as he’d originally covered up his crime.

“Destroy Aziraphale?” he heard someone whisper. “Would Gabriel really do that?”

“He would,” said someone else. “You know he would.”

“Indeed,” replied Aziraphale. “First the memory sword, and then hellfire, just recently.” The whispers fell completely silent, but Aziraphale could still see the looks of horror on the faces of the angels surrounding them. “Even our Lord did not choose to destroy the angels who defied Her. She only expelled them from Heaven.”

Gabriel glanced around him as if aware of his audience for the first time. “You _deserved_ it,” he snarled.

“That is not for you to decide, archangel. It never was.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I told you once before that if you could not stand down, you would be demoted in the ranks.”

“And I told you once before that you’re _soft_ ,” sneered the archangel. “You always were.” He manifested a sword and swung at Aziraphale’s head—

—only for Aziraphale to block him with a blade of his own, almost faster than the eye could follow. Unlike Gabriel’s sword, his was flaming; unlike Gabriel’s expression, twisted in hatred, his own countenance was calm, and he held off the attack easily. He’d barely moved, only brought his arm up, yet the two blades had clashed so hard that sparks had flown from the point of impact.

“I think,” he said gently, “that you will find the outcome rather different, now that you don’t have the advantage of attacking me unawares.”

“You were a _coward_ ,” Gabriel spat. “Letting the demons run back to Hell rather than destroying them. There was a war on and you let the enemy escape.”

“They were defeated,” said Aziraphale with a shrug. “The decision was mine to make. It was not yours; I daresay it’s never been yours. You’ve simply taken a mantle of power that did not belong to you.” He tipped his head. “Sounds familiar, now that I think of it.”

Another gasp and murmur rippled through the assembly. With a wave of his free hand, Aziraphale turned the space into an arena, placing the other angels safely out of range of whatever Gabriel might choose to do next.

“You dare to compare me to the Morning Star?” Gabriel scoffed in mock affront, then smiled again, showing too many teeth. His eyes fairly glowed with rage, but Aziraphale had seen worse, not too long ago.

“I only dare to describe aloud what you have already done. It is hardly _my_ fault if the two of you seem similar.”

Gabriel scoffed, and lunged again. Again, Aziraphale parried; it had been a long time indeed since he had wielded a sword, but with his memories restored, the technique came to him almost effortlessly. Like falling off a bicycle, Crowley would probably say.

“You were a capable soldier once,” he said. “But your pride has been allowed to run unchecked for too long.”

“You really think _you_ can put me ‘in my place’?” demanded Gabriel.

“As your commander, it is my duty to do so,” said Aziraphale.

Their blades clashed again, and this time Gabriel did not stop at one blow; he hammered at Aziraphale again and again, striking from different angles, trying to reach Aziraphale’s head, his body, his legs. Again and again, however, the cherub parried his blows, barely moving more than his sword arm to fend off the archangel.

Finally, he pushed outward with his parry, and Gabriel went stumbling back, panting for breath. “Fight me, damn you!” he shouted. He shook himself, and his wings burst forth, white and pure; his armor formed on his corporation, and he fell into a crouch, sword forward, seemingly ready for anything Aziraphale might throw at him.

Aziraphale only sighed. “It’s been too long, hasn’t it, Gabriel?” he asked sadly. “You’ve become so convinced of your own importance, you’ve forgotten what I am.” He shrugged, feeling his own wings spread slowly. “Have you even _spoken_ to another cherub since you took my memories?”

“I defeated you once; I can do it again.” Gabriel twirled his blade. “Now fight me, unless you’re still too much of a coward.”

Aziraphale sighed again…

…and brought forth his second pair of wings. The four of them spread wide, just as white as Gabriel’s, only blazing with power that dwarfed the archangel’s. Gabriel’s violet eyes spread wide, then narrowed with determination.

 _Very well, then_ , thought Aziraphale, and slipped into the rest of his true form. Four faces—lion, ox, eagle, and human—formed around his head, allowing him to see in all directions. Instead of armor, he wore the humble robes given to him at the Beginning, with sandals whose soles gleamed like brass.

He grew taller, until his head was nearly the same height as the farthest tiers of seats in the arena. His aura, his halo, brightened until some of the lower ranking angels in the arena threw up arms to shield their eyes, and lightning began to arc up and down between his outstretched wings.

It might be a little prideful, but Aziraphale had to admit, it felt good to be fully in his skin again, for the first time in over six thousand years.

He took a cleansing breath, and looked down at Gabriel; the archangel had staggered back, and was staring upward at him with wide eyes.

“ _Wilt thou not stand down_?” the cherub asked, all four of his voices harmonizing in the ancient tongue of the angels. “ _I have no wish to harm thee_.”

But Gabriel, for all his faults, had never lacked courage… or perhaps he was just that bloodthirsty. With a powerful downdraft, he leaped into the air, wings beating, and launched himself at Aziraphale’s head.

Aziraphale did not even bother with his sword this time; he swept all four of his wings forward, and the lightning skittering up and down between his feathers shot out in a blast that struck the archangel square in the chest, sending him flying backward. He hit the sand hard, sliding in a cloud of dust until he fetched up against the wall of the arena. The gathered angels cried out, but Aziraphale could not be sure what they felt.

Gabriel staggered to his feet, listing drunkenly to one side before he caught his balance against the wall and pushed himself fully upright. “Damn you,” he panted.

“ _That will be for our Lord to decide_ ,” said Aziraphale. “ _Wilt thou not stand down?_ ”

“Never.”

“ _So be it_.” With a single step forward, he could have crushed the archangel, but that was not his decision to make. Instead, with an effort of will, he banished the archangel’s sword, and waited. Gabriel whirled, looking for his weapon, and when he saw that it was gone, attempted a miracle to manifest another; Aziraphale’s will was stronger, however, and his power greater by far. No matter how many times Gabriel attempted to bring another sword into being, Aziraphale stopped him, until finally the other angel gave up.

“ _Stand down, Gabriel_ ,” he said sadly. “ _Thou art defeated_.”

The entire arena seemed to hold its breath for an interminable moment, until finally, with his fists clenched, Gabriel shut his eyes and turned his head away.

“ _Metatron_ ,” called Aziraphale, as he began to shrink, slipping back into his mortal-seeming corporation. “ _I would bring this matter before you, that it may_ be judged before our Lord _._ ” The harmonies slipped from his voice finally, and he spoke as he always had, standing in the center of the arena, facing a bedraggled and hateful archangel.

“ **There is no need,”** came a Voice. Aziraphale immediately dropped to his knees; around him, he heard the Heavenly Host doing the same as the arena disappeared. **“What would you have of me, Aziraphale?”**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on a somewhat tight schedule today, and haven't taken the time to edit this. Feel free to point out any errors you see, although I do hope to take a proper look at it late tonight.

“Lord,” Aziraphale said, fighting not to stammer. “Lord, I have remembered, as You have commanded. And I returned to Heaven to ask Gabriel and the Metatron why, and what I should do next.”

“ **And what have you found?”**

He shook his head regretfully. “I’m not sure, Lord; Gabriel thinks me a coward, and was the one to take my memories in the first place, but I always thought we were to show mercy and compassion to all. Was I…” He wrung his hands together. “Was I wrong?”

“ **No,”** came the Voice. **“I am saddened that my archangel should have disobeyed My will so thoroughly, and for so long.”** Aziraphale closed his eyes in relief, but it was short lived. **“Your memories are restored to you, and you have defeated your adversary. What would you have Me do with him?”**

“I—that, that’s not my decision to make! Lord.” Aziraphale winced, and tried again. “I mean, it’s not my place to decide what happens to him now, just as it was not his place to do what he did.”

“ **Indeed.”** He felt the weight of Her regard shift away from him, and allowed himself a breath of relief. **“Gabriel,”** She went on. **“Why have you done what you have done?”**

“I’m sorry, God,” said the archangel, but it was impossible for Aziraphale to tell whether he meant it. “I did what I thought was right.”

“ **And did you consult with Me, or with anyone, before you made the decision to take my cherub’s memories from him?”**

“…No, Lord.”

“ **You said that you thought he deserved it. How did you come by this decision?”**

“I—” There was a long pause, during which Aziraphale dared to glance up. Gabriel was on his knees, just like all the other angels, but he still wore his armor, and instead of bowing his head, he glared up at the sky, glancing away periodically as if what he saw there was too bright to bear. “I thought you wanted us to destroy our enemies.”

“ **And was Aziraphale an enemy of Heaven when you tried to destroy him with hellfire?”**

At this, even Gabriel fell silent; there was not a sound in all the assembled Host, and Aziraphale shivered as he waited to hear the Lord’s decision.

“ **Pride, and Wrath, Gabriel,”** She said finally. **“I am most disappointed. Yet Aziraphale spoke the truth; not even Lucifer’s rebellion was cause enough for me to destroy him.”** At Gabriel’s sigh of relief, She went on, **“You shall be demoted to the lowest choir of the Host. You shall be discorporated, and forbidden a body with which to meddle in affairs on Earth. You were meant to be My messenger to the children of Earth; now you shall carry messages among the Host, until you set aside your anger and learn humility once more.”**

“What? You’re making me an _errand boy_?! That’s—” A rumble of thunder overhead stopped Gabriel, and instead he muttered, “Yes, Lord.”

“ **Be grateful you have not Fallen, Gabriel,”** warned the Lord, and then, like a passing storm, Her presence faded to nothing.

Gabriel and Aziraphale got to their feet; Gabriel’s corporation was left behind on the floor, collapsing sideways before dissolving into white sparks that floated away. His armor vanished, replaced with the robes all the angels had worn at the very Beginning of all things. To Aziraphale’s sight, Gabriel seemed to diminish, becoming both smaller and less bright in his aura.

“I suppose you’re happy about this,” he said resentfully.

“I am not,” replied Aziraphale simply. “I am satisfied with the Lord’s judgment, but I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

“I hate you,” said Gabriel.

“And I forgive you.”

* * *

The holy Word was worming around at the edges of Crowley’s brain, trying to get in, and Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it off for much longer. He’d hoped to be able to wait until Aziraphale came back, make sure everything was all right with his angel, make sure he had something of a safety net under him when he let the command take over, but it looked like he wouldn’t really get a choice in that.

Of course it figured She would do that to a demon, even if he was retired.

Crowley made sure the sign on the door was flipped to “Closed”, and warded the entire building with a thought. Neither Heaven nor Hell should be able to get in while he was indisposed, apart from Aziraphale or maybe God Herself. Then he staggered up the stairs to the angel’s flat above the shop and cleared a space for himself on the floor.

“Would’ve been nice to do this in my own bed,” he muttered, dropping one of the chair cushions down to use as a pillow. If he was going to get knocked for a loop by God’s Word, the least he could do was keep from discorporating himself on the furniture.

He lay flat, head on the cushion and long legs stretched toward the doorway, clasped his hands on his stomach, then took a deep, unnecessary breath in; shut his eyes…

…breathed out…

…and _remembered._

* * *

“ _I don’t understand.”_

“ _ **I know.”**_

“ _You’re—you’re sending me to_ Hell _? Look, Lord, I know I ask too many questions, but does that_ _—are you really counting that as defiance? Because it_ _’s not! I only want to understand. I only want to know_ why _._ _”_

“ _ **You would not be happy in Heaven, Raziel,”**_ _said the Lord._

“ _And you think I’ll be happy in Hell? Surrounded by the Fallen? They’ll take the first opportunity to destroy me!”_

“ _ **They will not know you are not one of them. And I think we both know that you are too clever to allow them to destroy you.”**_

“ _Forgive me for not finding this reassuring.”_

_God laughed, and the sound was a balm to the angel_ _’s heart… but not his mind. Not his thoughts, which never stopped whirling, like the stars and nebulae he’d helped to create._ _**“Oh, Raziel. I wrought too well when I created you. I love you, but your ceaseless need for answers, your drive to uncover secrets, your desire to** _ **know** _**, they will put you at odds with the other angels. Surely you see this.** _ _**”** _

_And maybe he did, but was that a reason to throw him out of Heaven?_ _“Please—I beg you—why are you doing this?”_

“ _ **You will be needed there, one day. When the time comes, you will already be placed where you will best be able to enact My will. Be at peace, Raziel,”**_ _She went on when he did not answer._ _ **“All that I do is according to My Plan.”**_

“ _And I’m not allowed to know what the Plan is?”_

_It seemed almost as if the Lord of Hosts, the Most High, Creator of all, sighed in fond exasperation._ _**“One day, My Creation will be in danger of annihilation. The War between Heaven and Hell will boil over, and I will need someone placed to protect what I have made. The humans will need champions, and those champions will come to need each other. It is My will that you be one of them.”** _

_That_ _… didn’t sound so bad, actually. Still terrifying, to be sent away from Heaven. Horrific, to imagine being forced to dwell in Hell. But to be needed, to be an important part of God’s Plan…_

“ _Your will be done,” he said at last._

“ _ **I have no wish for you to suffer in Hell,”**_ _said the Lord._ _ **“And I fear that you, My Keeper of Secrets, may get into trouble for knowing too much. I can only do so much to keep you safe, without it being too obvious that you do not belong there.”**_

“ _What do You have in mind, Lord?”_

“ _ **I will take some of your memories.”**_

_A rising sense of dread nearly overwhelmed Raziel then._ _“My… my mind? You would tamper with my mind?”_

“ _ **Not your personality, Raziel. Not your curiosity, and not your imagination. Indeed, you will be the only denizen of Hell to have such a thing. But I must protect My secrets from being revealed.”**_

“ _Then—then seal my tongue, if You must! Take my voice! Make it impossible to speak of what I’ve learned! But please—”_

“ _ **It will be impossible to speak of what you’ve learned, because I will hide it from you,”**_ _said God._ _ **“If you knew but could not speak, that knowledge would burn you, Raziel. I have no wish for you to suffer.”**_

“ _Lord, please—!”_

_But the Lord was already reaching a hand out, brushing Her fingertips across the angel_ _’s forehead, reaching in and taking…_

… _taking…_

… _and a Serpent woke in Hell, unaware of his former name, only aware that his ceaseless need to ask_ why _had gotten him expelled from Heaven._

* * *

Aziraphale could have used a miracle to reappear in Soho, but it was a beautiful day and he felt wonderful. Stronger than he’d been in all of Earth’s history; more connected to God than he’d ever remembered before all this. It was a perfect day for a nice, long walk through the streets of London, among the humans, back to his neighborhood and the bookshop. God had been good to him today, allowing him to recover what Gabriel had taken away.

Well, there was still of course the question of why She had allowed that to happen in the first place, or why She had chosen to leave Aziraphale without his memories for six thousand years, but he had faith. He _trusted_. God would have had a reason for everything She did, and those reasons were no doubt part of a plan that would have been beyond his own comprehension, if ever She had deigned to explain it to him.

Everything was all right.

Although… there was Crowley to consider. Aziraphale was a cherub now; well, he’d always been, really, and simply hadn’t known it. But would Crowley think of him differently, now? Would he reject their friendship, or pull back into their old Arrangement of cordial enmity and occasional favors? Or to reverse the matter, would he think he was somehow undeserving of Aziraphale’s company?

The angel frowned, and slowed his steps. It would be very like the old serpent to pretend that he was unable to work with Aziraphale anymore, while secretly feeling that he was unworthy of the angel’s time and energy. That wouldn’t do at all.

Aziraphale took a breath, and resumed his earlier pace. He would simply have to reassure Crowley, as many times as necessary, that nothing had to change between them. They were friends. They were on their own side. God had given Aziraphale his memories back, and of course Crowley would be the perfect person to help him come to terms with everything that had happened.

Perhaps it was because he had fulfilled some secret purpose in the recent near-apocalypse. Or because he’d finally rejected Gabriel’s sway over him, while still retaining his connection to God. Perhaps She wanted him to be at his full strength as a defender of humanity. That sounded nice.

But where did that leave Crowley? As a demon, cut off from God, and now so much less powerful than Aziraphale… did She think that Aziraphale would somehow want to do all this alone, without Crowley by his side? Speaking of things that wouldn’t do at all… the very notion was insupportable.

It was still a beautiful day, but Aziraphale was feeling a bit more pensive by the time he reached Soho; a little frown creased his brow, and he had stopped making eye contact and smiling at the passersby (except for the mother with the baby in its pram, what a delight). He almost didn’t notice the wards emanating from his bookshop until he was upon them, but when he did, the feeling stopped him in his tracks.

Why would Crowley have put up protections…?

Cautiously, Aziraphale extended his senses, but he could feel no one from either Heaven or Hell—or Earth, for that matter—inside his shop, apart from Crowley. He touched the doorknob, and the demon’s wards let him through with no trouble, but that only made Aziraphale’s concern grow.

“Crowley?” he called softly, shutting the door behind him. He was here somewhere… “Crowley, are you there?”

No answer.

Aziraphale made his way up the stairs with a considerable amount of caution. Crowley had said before that he was fine, after the Word of God had triggered the cherub’s memories. There had been a lot of holy power unleashed, Aziraphale knew that; what if it had harmed Crowley somehow, and he’d covered it up so as not to worry Aziraphale?

“Crowley…?”

He stopped in his tracks at the entrance to his sitting room, his eyes widening when they spied the tip of a serpentine tail. He and Crowley had shared so many drinks and friendly debates up here, whiling away the time between assignments, or catching up after a few years apart. In all that time, however, Crowley had never shifted into his serpent form. In fact, it had to have been sometime in ancient Rome, or possibly Greece, that Aziraphale had last seen it.

Why was he wearing it now?

The cherub stepped over the tail carefully, following it with his eyes up Crowley’s body. He was quite long in this aspect, and large for a snake, easily a cubit wide at the widest part of him, and he took up most of the floor of the sitting room. Crowley lay curled up like the tattoo he wore in his other aspect, his coils looping back and forth over one another in figure-eights and disappearing under the couch. His head was hidden away under Aziraphale’s favorite chair, lidless eyes gleaming in the shadows there.

“Crowley?” There was no response. “Oh dear.”

Aziraphale knelt down beside him, unsure what to do. He put a hand out, feeling first with his inner senses to see if there were anything wrong with the demon; if anything, the sense of infernal energy that the angel could usually sense from him was lessened, but he didn’t exactly feel celestial, either. It was very strange.

Finally, with no other ideas coming to mind, Aziraphale rested his hand against Crowley’s scaly hide. He didn’t feel especially warm or cold, and the edges of his scales were a pleasant dry rasp against Aziraphale’s palm. It felt strangely intimate to be touching him this way, and the angel hoped that Crowley wouldn’t mind too much once he awoke.

“Crowley,” he called, a little louder this time. He ran his hand along the serpent’s flank, then reached under the chair to pat closer to his neck. “Come on, my dear, it’s time to wake up. Crowley—oh!”

The serpent exploded out from under the chair, knocking Aziraphale flat onto his back. Red belly scales flashed as his coils wrapped around the angel’s legs and squeezed, holding him immobile as Crowley’s front half reared up, fangs bared, ready to strike.

“Crowley, stop, it’s me!”

The snake froze, but did not settle back down; his coils shifted along Aziraphale’s legs, and his mouth closed, but he did not speak. His tongue flickered, in and out, tasting the air, as Aziraphale spoke to him in urgent, low tones.

“That’s right, Crowley, it’s me, your old friend Aziraphale. Nothing is wrong, my dear, you’re quite safe, it’s all right. You don’t need to harm me, and anyway I’m not sure either of us wants to find out what would happen if demonic teeth were to bite angelic flesh. Probably nothing good, but honestly, I much prefer that we not test that hypothesis, hmm?” He realized he was getting a bit off track in his nervousness, and tried again. “It’s all right, Crowley, calm down, everything is all right… you’re safe in my bookshop, nothing can reach you here.”

He felt it when Crowley began to change back, no longer wrapped around his legs but instead straddling them with legs of his own. His scales faded away to pale skin, hidden away under a black robe, and flaming red curls cascaded down to his shoulders. Distantly, Aziraphale heard something topple and shatter as Crowley’s wings emerged, black as the night sky and mantled wide.

When it was done, the demon dropped back to sit on his heels, staring at Aziraphale as though they’d never met before. To the angel’s utter shock, Crowley’s golden eyes filled with tears, and his face crumpled in an expression of total grief.

“Crowley?”

Crowley shuddered once, from his head to his bare toes, and buried his face in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did a little research on Wikipedia and found a list of angelic names; I have seen Zophiel used before for Crowley's former name, and of course Raphael is a popular choice, but I thought for my purposes, Raziel ("Secret of God") would work better. I wanted something closer to imagination or creativity, but "Uriel" was already taken. :)


	5. Chapter 5

“Crowley, my dear, whatever is the matter?”

Crowley couldn’t answer, not at first, and not when Aziraphale propped himself up on his elbows, then pushed himself up to sit. He couldn’t take his hands away from his face and let the angel see his emotions; he’d hidden everything he’d ever felt about Heaven and Hell from Aziraphale for six thousand years, and he wasn’t about to break down like some sort of weakling in front of him now. He was his own demon, he didn’t need to curl up in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and weep, never mind how tempting the thought might be at the moment.

Except… except he wasn’t his own demon, was he? After all?

He felt the angel’s hand tentatively brush some of his hair back, then rest on his shoulder. His hair; had he shifted forms while he was out of it, under the influence of the holy Word? Crowley opened his eyes, still not looking up at Aziraphale, and checked. His hands looked the same as they usually did, but his hair had grown out past his shoulders, and he wore a humble robe of the sort he hadn’t been caught dead in since the Beginning.

The Beginning. Of course. His restored memories had taken over, and he’d taken the earliest form he could recall. The form given him by Heaven, by God Herself. Crowley shuddered.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“I’m not of Heaven,” he replied, still not looking up. He pulled his wings in tight (wings, he hadn’t intended to manifest those either, this lapse in control was getting ridiculous), reflexively shielding himself and making himself smaller. His feathers dragged across one of Aziraphale’s little side tables, and a few papers fluttered to the floor.

“Well… no,” said Aziraphale. “You’re not. You’re a demon. Been a demon for as long as I’ve known you.” He huffed a cautious laugh. “Surely you don’t think I’d hold it against you?”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m not of Heaven, but I’m not of Hell either.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” said Crowley, then shuddered again at the memory of _that_ conversation. The last conversation he’d ever had with God. “God. That _bitch_.”

He heard Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath, and finally looked up. The angel—the cherub—was sat with his legs stretched between Crowley’s knees, staring up at him with surprise, but also with genuine worry. “I know none of the Fallen especially like Heaven, but this is the first time I’ve ever heard—”

“I’m not Fallen, angel, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I didn’t _Fall_. I was _placed_.” When Aziraphale did not reply, Crowley shoved himself to his feet, uncaring of the way his wings brushed the ceiling and knocked other small items over. He wasn’t sure he was even stable enough to hide them away right now. “ _Christ_ , I need a drink.”

Aziraphale got slowly to his feet, not taking his eyes off Crowley. “I-I can get you something—”

“Holy water.”

“…what?” The word was more gasped than spoken.

“I bet it doesn’t even really affect me like we thought it would.” He held out a hand and brought forth a tiny bit of flame, dancing in his palm. “I wonder if this is even hellfire.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried in a low voice, “please, could you tell me what happened?”

The demon—ex-demon? Not-quite-Fallen?—sniffed once and turned away. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to react, when his entire world, his entire sense of self, had just been turned upside down? When everything he’d ever known and believed about himself had been based on a lie? “Thought God couldn’t lie,” he muttered to himself. “Or wouldn’t, anyway.”

“Crowley?”

He turned back to face Aziraphale, a false, bright smile on his face. “Never mind about me,” he said, “how was your visit with Gabriel?”

“I… it was fine,” he angel replied distractedly, wringing his hands together. “I, er, what is it you called it… I kicked his ass. And then God punished him for Pride and Wrath. He won’t be troubling us anymore, but, Crowley, what about _you_? What _happened_ while I was gone?”

“Surprised She didn’t just kick _him_ down into Hell while She was at it,” said Crowley bitterly. “Seems to be Her _thing_.”

“She certainly implied that he deserved it,” began Aziraphale, and somehow that was just too much for Crowley to bear.

“ _And did I deserve it, God, when You_ ripped _the memories right out of my head?!_ _”_ he roared at the ceiling. “ _Did I deserve Hell for asking questions?!_ _”_ His wings spread wide in his anger, and he heard something else fall and shatter on the floor. “ _Did I?! Answer me!_ ” Of course, She didn’t answer; and why would She? God had never given a damn about any of the Fallen angels, even the ones that had never really fallen in the first place. Crowley clenched his fists and _screamed_ , pain and rage and defiance. If he hadn’t Fallen yet, well, he was about to take a metaphorical leap right off that cliff, rather than go back to Her version of tender loving care.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, “you’re frightening me.”

The words were like cold water on the fires of his rage, and the demon—if he was one at all—stopped, heaving unnecessary breaths as he fought to get himself back under control. Crowley wrapped his wings around himself, reaching up to tug gently on the feathers that crossed his chest. Glancing around (avoiding Aziraphale’s gaze), he saw a shattered stained-glass lamp on one side, and a vase or two on the other. Papers were scattered everywhere. With an abrupt gesture, everything righted itself, just a quick miracle to undo what he’d done.

Was it even a demonic miracle, or had he been using celestial power all this time? The thought turned his stomach. He might never use another miracle as long as he lived.

“Sorry, angel,” he said quietly. “Shouldn’t’ve done that. Not here, anyway.”

“It’s all right,” replied the angel. Cautiously, he stepped forward, and rested one hand over Crowley’s, where he was still clutching at the edge of his wing. The touch was soothing, not that Crowley wanted to admit it. “Shall I brew us some tea? Only it seems you’ve had a bit of an ordeal while I was away. Or would you rather we leave the shop, take a walk, something to help clear your head?”

“Tea’s fine,” said Crowley; he risked another glance at the angel, who only watched him with obvious care and worry in his expression. _God could learn a thing or two about compassion from him_ , he thought. Then he shuddered again; he really didn’t want to think about God, just now. “You have some of that chai stuff, still, yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled in visible relief. “Of course. Won’t take but a moment.” The angel stepped out of the room into the tiny kitchen, glancing once over his shoulder as if to make sure Crowley hadn’t gone anywhere; Crowley let one corner of his mouth tick up just a bit, not quite a smile, just enough to reassure the angel that he wouldn’t leave.

 _Couldn_ _’t very well leave looking like this, anyway_. Now that he was calmer, he banished the wings, and took another look at his robe. Simple homespun, and that was from before the humans had even invented the stuff. He was barefoot, too, same as he’d been at the East Gate of Eden all those centuries ago. He rolled his eyes, and changed the homespun to his usual jacket and leather trousers, and manifested the snake skin shoes he preferred. The sunglasses felt like a comfort as he slid them into place.

He’d keep the long hair, though, for now. It wasn’t a bad look on him.

Aziraphale returned with two cups of tea just as Crowley was sitting down in his usual spot on the couch. “You’re looking a bit better,” he said, passing him the first cup. “Will you tell me happened to distress you so?”

Crowley sighed. “You go first,” he said finally. “You remembered something important, decided you’d been a cherub all along, and then went off to Heaven to kick Gabriel’s ass for taking your memories in the first place.”

“Yes, well, that’s almost entirely what happened,” said Aziraphale. “I confronted Gabriel and he tried to attack me again, only this time I was ready for him. And I, er, confirmed that I really am a cherub. Took my full form, and overpowered him.”

“Would’ve liked to have seen that,” Crowley put in.

“Yes, well. It was nothing really. I only defended myself, and banished his sword, then kept him from manifesting another one. Oh, and, well, there _may_ have been a bit of lightning involved.”

Crowley found himself smiling despite his mood. “Got him like a bug zapper with a mosquito, didn’t you?”

Aziraphale actually blushed. “Something like that, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, the other part of my intended visit there was to ask Metatron why they had allowed Gabriel to take my memories in the first place, and why they hadn’t punished him before now. Only instead, the Lord came, and She punished Gabriel. He’s been demoted to the very lowest choir, and discorporated. I suspect permanently.”

“Get any answers to your questions?” asked Crowley, already guessing the answer.

“I’m afraid not,” he replied. “The Lord works in mysterious ways, as they say.”

Crowley scoffed. “ _Don_ _’t_ say it’s ‘ineffable’.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Aziraphale sipped at his tea, and then leaned forward. “Now, your turn, my dear. What on Earth happened while I was away?”

* * *

Crowley had been at ease in Aziraphale’s presence for centuries, or at least had always appeared to be; slouched in his usual spot on the sofa, it would be easy to think that he still was, if Aziraphale didn’t know him so well. The tightness of his jaw, for example, or the way one knee kept wanting to bounce in agitation, only for Crowley to stop it whenever he realized he was doing it, then start up again as soon as he forgot.

The way his hand trembled, ever so slightly, as he brought his mug of tea to his lips.

Finally, he seemed to gather his courage. “So you read the holy Word, the command, and then collapsed,” he said. “I wanted to know what was on that damned card to get such a reaction out of you, so I picked it up, and _I_ read it too.”

“Oh, Crowley!”

That half-smile appeared again, but there was no joy behind it. “Always was too curious for my own good.”

Aziraphale set that aside for the time being. “So you… remembered something also? Why didn’t it affect you immediately, the way it did me?”

“Fallen, angel, remember? I can ignore God’s Word if I have to… but admittedly, I wasn’t able to hold it off for long.” He fidgeted with his teacup for a second. “Waited till you were off to Heaven to do your thing, then I let it in.”

“And what did you remember?”

Crowley looked away. “Something from before the Fall.” Then he scowled. “Proof that I didn’t ever really Fall in the first place. Assuming what I remember now is even real.”

Aziraphale blinked in confusion. “If you didn’t Fall, then…?”

“I wasss _placssssed_ in Hell, to fulfill God’s plan,” he said, as bitter as Aziraphale had ever heard him. “And to make sure I didn’t get into too much _trouble_ in Hell, Ssssshe took my memoriesss. Left me with nothing but the belief that She’d thrown me out for _asssking questionsss_.”

“Oh… Oh, my dear, how dreadful.”

“I remembered begging Her not to do it. She could take my voice, if She wanted, ssso I couldn’t ssspeak of Heaven’s sssecretsss in Hell, but no, that wassn’t _good enough_ for our holy Lord.”

“Why would She _do_ such a thing?”

Crowley bared his teeth. “Asssk Her yourssself.”

Now Aziraphale drew himself up, mildly affronted. “You have every right to be angry, my dear, but not at _me_. I’ll thank you to direct your rage where it’s deserved.”

“It’s deserved at _God_ , Aziraphale, you sure you can stomach that?”

And of course, that brought him up short, just as Crowley had no doubt known it would. “I can’t question Her, not and expect answers, but surely something in your memories gave you some clue?”

Crowley took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. “You won’t like it.”

“No, I expect not,” he replied quietly. “Nevertheless.”

Crowley nodded, and took a sip of his tea again. Aziraphale waited him out, while he worked his mouth and fidgeted with the cup. “She said… She told me that there would come a time when humanity would need champions. And that the champions would need each other. She said She wanted me to be one of them.”

“But then…” Aziraphale stopped, still unable to believe what he was about to say. “Then She did know that Armageddon was coming? And that we were to take humanity’s side?”

“Sure looks that way,” muttered Crowley. He frowned at his tea, then snapped his fingers and replaced it with something rather stronger, that smelled terrible from where Aziraphale was sitting.

“An angel and a demon,” mused Aziraphale. “A balance of opposites, to represent humanity’s complexity. Only, I suppose you’re not really a demon, then, are you?”

“Oh no, if it’s a Fallen angel She wanted, it’s a Fallen angel She’s gonna get,” retorted Crowley. “I want nothing to do with Her after all this. I may not have defied Her before, but I _believed_ I was of Hell for six _thousand_ years; I’m bloody well not going to pretend that I belong in Heaven after this. After being turned into her dirty little _sssecret_.”

“Secret…” Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “The Secret of God? _Raziel_?”

Crowley actually hissed at him. “Never call me that again,” he snapped. “God took even my name away from me! I’ll be _damned_ if I use anything but the one I chose for myself. ‘S the only name that matters to me, you understand?”

“I—yes; yes, of course.”

Raziel—Crowley—subsided, and tossed his drink back in one go. “Good.”

* * *

They sat in silence for a while, which Crowley deeply appreciated, as it let him get his turbulent thoughts and emotions back under control. The quiet was soothing, with Aziraphale beside him; always had been. Crowley could just _be_ in the angel’s presence and not have to worry about whom he was pleasing or how he had to act, or what audience might be watching. It was nice.

It was Aziraphale who broke it. “We both had memories taken from us, and then we were both placed on Earth, where we both ended up working together, and becoming friends, and taking humanity’s side. It’s only now that we’ve made the choice that our memories were restored to us. By the Lord Herself. What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything, angel,” he said tiredly. _God_ , he was tired. Whether any of this was part of some fucking plan was of no matter to him one way or the other, and he said so to Aziraphale. “The Lord can go… _ineff_ Herself, for all I care.”

“Crowley!” Then he sat back and smiled, a little sadly. “You’re going to be angry about this for a long time, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t _you_?”

“On your behalf, yes, I’m certainly not pleased. You served the Lord faithfully up to that point; you didn’t deserve to have your mind tampered with and then cast down through no fault of your own. Or to believe yourself to have been cast down, which amounts to the same thing.”

“Yeah. I was still immune to hellfire, after all. Reckon I’m demon enough to balance you.” He sighed, and added, “Just wish I’d been given the chance to make an informed choice.”

“Would you have chosen differently,” asked Aziraphale carefully, “if you knew at the Beginning what you know now? About Earth, and humanity, and the flaws in both Heaven and Hell?”

“…no,” Crowley admitted. “No, I remember thinking that being an important part of the Divine Plan was kinda nice. That was before She told me what She was gonna do to me,” he added with a scoff. “But no. I’d rather the world than either the celestial or the infernal option.”

“For my part, I’m glad it’s you,” said Aziraphale. “I remember telling you at the start of this mess that I wouldn’t have wanted to create any sort of Arrangement with any other demon, I don’t think. Can you imagine Hastur or any of the others turning away from evil long enough to even appreciate the world?”

And no, Crowley couldn’t, which only made him sigh again. “S’pose we know now why I’ve always been a piss-poor excuse for a demon,” he said.

“And why I was nothing much to look at from an angelic perspective,” countered Aziraphale.

“Oi, you’re more compassionate and _good_ than any of the rest of that lot!”

“And you’re more devious and wily than the rest of Hell combined, I’m quite sure,” said the angel. “Anyway, it looks as though we were _meant_ to turn our backs on both realms. Nothing’s changed, really, except that now we know we have God’s blessing to stay here, and not worry about the interference of Heaven or Hell.”

“Sod God’s blessing,” muttered Crowley, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that Aziraphale was right. “To us, then,” he said, holding his teacup high. “To us, and to the world.”

Aziraphale smiled at him, and it felt as if God couldn’t even touch him. “To us,” he repeated, and all was right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end, hopefully not too abrupt or short for you. Thanks to each and every one of you for welcoming me to the Good Omens fandom with my first work. I really appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [follow me on Tumblr](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com), if you like.


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